Only Yours
by TheVelvetDusk
Summary: "The setting sun outlined her silhouette from beyond the alleyway, adorning her huddled form in an array of fading light. And he was once again struck powerless in her presence." A hushed conversation is mistakenly overheard, but Spencer goes the extra mile to convince Toby of the undeniable truth-she's only his. [one-shot, post-S4]


_Another prompt from **nevermindthebuttocks**! Not sure where exactly this would fall in the PLL timeline, but definitely post-S4. It's slightly different than how it was requested, but it just made sense for me to kill two birds with one stone. You'll see what I mean.. Hope you enjoy!_

_**Prompt**: Toby finding out about Spencer and Andrew's strip-study season. Could be as its happening, since the A-team can obviously monitor the Liars whenever they want, or could be after the fact. I just think this is something they should've mentioned on the show._

* * *

He was going to be sick. It was either that, or he was going to break something.

His feet were carrying him on autopilot, rapidly transporting him toward his preferred means of escape. It was as if there were two unrelenting hands wrapped around his trachea. Everything inside of him felt choked, twisted, all tangled up. How could she do this to him? There was no one else for him, no one who could hold a candle to her. Was it unreasonable for him to believe that she felt the same way about him after all of this time?

A jumbled version of Emily's speech replayed in his mind, torturing him like a gruesome song on repeat.

"_Be careful with that boy, Spence. First you're flinging off your bra in front of him…then getting cozy for a handful of pills… but now you're just study buddies? Talk about mixed messages."_

It wasn't like Toby had wanted to hear any of it. When he'd made his way down to The Brew, it hadn't been to spy or to eavesdrop. Midterms were coming and she'd insisted on devoting the entire afternoon to her studies. He could respect that. All he'd wanted to do was surprise his girlfriend with a quick hello and a round of coffee on him.

Instead, he'd accidentally wandered into the middle of a heated debate volleying between her and a rather worked-up version of Emily Fields. Spencer's mortified expression had immediately flitted to a nearby couch and the picture was complete. There he was, some stuffy prep school wannabe, chewing absentmindedly on the cap of his pen while hunched over a pile of notebooks and flashcards.

As it turns out, the surprise was all on Toby.

Yep. He was going to be sick.

"Please, **_please_**, don't get on that."

Toby nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of her hoarse appeal. He hadn't heard her following after him, but the brash roaring between his ears may have been responsible for that lack of awareness.

"Not now, Spencer."

"Yes, now. We need to talk." She was trying so hard to sound like her usual tough-as-nails self, but the attempt flopped pitifully. He knew her too well. A distinct crackle of impending tears lined every little nuance of her rasping voice.

He glanced back at her with a stoic grimace, his motorcycle helmet clenched between white fingers. One hand was fiddling distractedly with her skirt, the other clamped over her cell pone with notable desperation. Even with several yards between them, he was pierced by the tint of immeasurable distress in her chocolate gaze. He refused to let it get to him. He could be stronger than that. "It can wait. I'll come back, okay? I just need some air before I can do this."

Her whole body quivered against the grave quality of his words. "B-but…it's really not what you think, Toby. I can explain about what she said, and I promise that whatever you're picturing, it isn't as bad as that. Please…"

It seemed like she'd finished her petition, but before he could respond, the glistening in her eyes intensified and her head bowed lower. "I know that I've asked for more than my fair share of second chances. You've already put up with so much from me and I _hate_ that I'm always the one screwing this up…"

A shutter of dark hair fell over her face as she trailed off. The setting sun outlined her silhouette from beyond the alleyway, adorning her huddled form in an array of fading light.

And he was once again struck powerless in her presence. It didn't matter how infuriated he was, there was still no way he could leave her alone in such a distraught state.

"C'mon," he sighed resignedly, his molars grinding together as he took a step away from the bike. "We can go upstairs."

She nodded meagerly, an index finger running frantically beneath her lash line. "Okay."

He made a subtle noise of confirmation, something between a grunt and a cough. It was all he could manage. She waited for him to pass by before moving to shuffle mutely behind him. The abnormality of the entire scene was almost too much for him. They made no eye contact. His hands hung uselessly at his side, practically aching for the touch of her skin as they reached the street entrance to his loft. Not a word was breathed between them. It was like walking into his home with a complete stranger.

The stilted air of discomfort was not lost on Spencer either. She seemed so strangely out of place as they entered, her stance awkward as she drifted aimlessly just inside of the doorframe. All of her concentration was pinned on the floor, the toe of her shoe scuffing evasively against the welcome mat.

No, no way, not a chance. He would _not_ be the one to break the ice this time. As stubborn as Spencer could be, this was one arena where he was equally pigheaded. Toby despised confrontation and this wasn't his idea anyway. He'd already be more than halfway to the city limits if he'd gotten his way.

So instead of encompassing her shrinking figure in his arms—which was what a miniscule sliver of his disregarded heart was commanding him to do—Toby crossed the open floor plan with an indifferent strut, then plopped wordlessly onto the futon. His elbows landed over denim-clad knees, his face coming to rest in the casing of his palms. If there was anything he'd learned in a lifetime of past hurt, it was that there was so much more control in making yourself numb. Anger was messy. Screaming matches were ineffective. You couldn't make people care more, so you might as well care less. Be numb to it all and beat them at their own game.

"The only reason I didn't tell you this…" she began suddenly in something that was hardly above a whisper, "is because, to me, it was the least important thing in a long list of awful misdemeanors. At the time that it—"

"**Least important**?! You're telling me that flashing another guy is the '_least important_' piece of information that you could have shared with your very oblivious boyfriend?!"

Okay, so apparently he wasn't quite as numb as he'd thought. Sizzling fury raced across his brain and he was helpless against its sweeping claim. This was her fault. She'd weakened his best defense, hijacked his emotions and derailed the only safeguard he'd ever known.

But to be fair, she was looking pretty vulnerable herself. Spencer took a timid half-step in his direction. Her eyes were flitting across the ceiling like the answers were somehow stamped into the grainy wood finish. "I'm not saying that this isn't important, Toby. I'm trying to tell you that—_at the time_—it was not my number one concern."

He caught the intended emphasis over those three cryptic words. As much as he wanted to cling to his immature obstinacy, he couldn't ignore the curiosity that she'd spurred inside of him. Keeping his voice excruciatingly impersonal, he took the bait. "What are you referring to? When did this happen?"

She gnawed on her thumbnail for a prolonged moment. His stomach sank as he began to put it together in his head. Another second passed before she validated his theory.

"A few days before I was committed to Radley."

Translation_—a few days after I found you standing in my kitchen wearing a black hoodie_.

Toby scrubbed a weary hand over his closed eyes. He wanted to say something supportive, a speedy dismissal of all that had transpired in that bitter span of weeks that he'd gladly terminate from his memory bank as well as hers. She'd mercifully spared him from spilling every last detail from that miserable era, and now he was sure that it was partially for her own good. He understood that choice. He knew what the weight of disgrace felt like, knew exactly what it was like to be so shamed by your own reflection that you just stopped looking in the mirror for good. Sometimes silence was your only life preserver.

But the seconds ticked by and his reassurances remained indefinitely imprisoned within.

Her voice was nearer this time, still brimming with a wary fretfulness, but also containing a dash of something more resolute. "You can see why, right? You can see that it had a lot less to do with hiding things from you than...it was more…more like I didn't need to overwhelm you with every reckless decision I'd made in the time that we were…_apart_."

"I get that, Spence." He couldn't deny himself anymore. His head rose to look at her, to take in those copper-rimmed eyes that were haunted with inexorable regret. "But that doesn't make it hurt any less. And it certainly doesn't make me feel a whole lot better about the fact that you're still hanging out with him. When you told me you'd be studying all afternoon, you failed to clarify that you'd be studying with a guy, let alone a guy who has seen you topless!"

"But, Toby—"

"And to be honest, Spencer, I'm still a little lost on how any of this even took place. Did he take advantage of you? Because you were going through a hard time and…if he saw that and went for it…"

He couldn't go on. That mental image was too much for him, and the earlier queasiness was reappearing quickly.

Spencer stood directly before him now, her head turning briskly from side to side. "No, baby. That wasn't how it happened at all. Andrew isn't like that…he didn't even initiate it. And I was _not_ topless."

Toby nodded tightly, trying not to balk at the sound of the other boy's name. "I need you to tell me how it did happen."

"It's stupid, really." She sighed, dropping her phone to the coffee table before ploughing a shaky hand through her windswept hair. "Mona had me all riled up, openly provoking me about losing you. I was beyond the verge of collapse when she moved on to the new goal of acing me out of the Decathlon team. I was already showing signs of a major breakdown, so it wasn't too difficult for her to convince them of my inability to compete. Andrew was the only one who still seemed to be on my side, so I…I challenged him to a…"

"Just say it, Spencer." He leaned forward and drummed a finger against her bare knee. "I will do my best to contain myself, whatever it is."

Her look of gratitude couldn't offset the underlying turbulence that still creased her brow. "I challenged him to a quiz-off…a _strip_ quiz-off, to prove that I should still be on the team. I was so pissed off about everything else and I thought that if I could just get his attention, then he'd have to help me reclaim my spot."

He chuckled lowly, but it was utterly devoid of humor. "He didn't stand a chance with those odds."

"Let me be clear." She reached for his shoulders and prodded him backward until his body met with the futon's cushioned frame. His eyes widened as she straddled his lap and grasped either side of his face in her cool hands, determinedly staring down at him until he fully returned her gaze. "He didn't see anything. My shirt was on. My pants were on. In case you didn't know, I'm very good at Decathlon trivia. When Emily came in, I was only missing footwear, a cardigan, and my bra—which I removed from underneath my shirt without revealing anything else."

His cheeks flamed a little as his ire waned. "Oh. When she said bra, I just…well, you know. I thought that meant something else entirely."

"No one sees _that_." A half-smirk worked its way over her mouth as she caressed his chin with both of her thumbs. "No one else…only you, Toby."

He wasn't sure if he was supposed to feel honored or turned on. Consequently, he experienced a mixture of both. "I didn't mean to fly off the handle like that. And I'm sorry, Spence, I am…but the idea of losing you in any way just makes me…I don't know…"

"Makes you crazy? Makes you act like your brain has been severed from the rest of your body and there's nothing you can do to contain the aftershock of it?"

He nodded swiftly, his lips twitching at her exceptionally accurate wording.

"Me too." She fluffed a lock of hair up off of his forehead, then leaned in to press a kiss to the newly-disclosed skin that resided there. "You don't have to explain it to me. I had a bed at Radley with my name on it for that very reason, remember?"

"That isn't funny, Spencer." As if he needed a reminder. He wouldn't ever be able to distance himself from that gnawing sensation of past guilt, not even with the pardon of her undeserved forgiveness.

She frowned a little, her eyes dimming. "You're right. It isn't. But don't miss my point. You aren't the only one with a knack for the occasional dose of flying-off-the-handle behavior. I've been there."

"Well if you're giving me a free pass on irrational interrogations, then I have to ask something else."

Her fingers continued to weave in and out of his unkempt hair. "Sure, Tobes. Ask away."

He exhaled deliberately, trying to keep his voice neutral. This topic wasn't an easy one for him to broach. "Did I…did I hear Emily mention something about Andrew giving you pills?"

She froze, the motion of her hands stilling abruptly. "Wow, you really got the full spectrum of that rotten conversation, didn't you?"

"Spence…" his heart flopped sullenly. She'd done her best to mask her tone with a glib shot of self-deprecation, but he wasn't fooled. His question had lit a flame of deeper humiliation and her crestfallen appearance gave her away instantly. This was a battle scar that hadn't quite healed yet.

"It wasn't his fault, okay? Please don't be angry with him. I'm the one who sought him out first, and I'm _definitely _the one who should have known better. He just thought I wanted to stay up all night to cram for—"

"Hey, it's—"

But she didn't want to hear it. Her hands were batting around in animated gestures, her words coming faster than what should have been humanly possible. "No, really. You shouldn't blame him. He only gave me a few and he thought they were for studying. How could he know that I'd abused them bef—"

"**Spencer**." He folded both of her hands in one of his and shook her gently with the other. "Chill. I believe you and I'm not mad. I'm not mad at him and I'm not mad at you."

Her eyes cleared slowly as her shoulders rose and fell with a startling sharpness. For all of the hectic frenzy that she'd just unleashed, the next thing to tumble out of her was astonishingly meek. "You're not mad?"

It was so hard to keep his emotions in check when she looked at him with such a dark shadow of fragility on her beautiful face. "Of course not, sweetheart. You know that all I want is for you to be healthy, right?"

She nodded with an unassuming trace of reservation.

"Then it doesn't matter anymore. I just needed to know if I should still be worried about this guy, whether that's Adderall-related, bra-related, or anything else." His chest suddenly constricted as his head caught up with his tongue. "_Please_ tell me that there isn't anything else."

"Nothing, not a single thing, I swear to you." Her eyes were compellingly solemn as she squeezed her fingers through the slots of his.

"Good, because I did not plan on breaking anyone's kneecaps when I woke up this morning. Not to say that I wouldn't do it if that's what was necessary…"

The wiggle of his eyebrows launched a melody of giggles from the exquisite girl in front of him. "It isn't necessary. In case you didn't know, Andrew isn't really my type."

"No?" He let go of her hands and circled her waist, nudging her slight body more fully into his. She came willingly, her hips shimmying over his thighs in a way that sent sparks of heat all through his veins.

Her hand curved lightly over his sleeve before slipping back up into his hair. "No. Definitely not."

"Hmm…" he inclined forward and nipped tauntingly at her lower lip. "And what exactly is your type, Miss Hastings?"

"Welllll," she began, dragging out the word with a playful smile. "For starters, I need someone who balances out all of my insanity. You know, someone who can keep me calm and not feed into the whirlwind that goes on in my head. Andrew's basically wired the same as I am, and it would be a disaster for us to spend too much time together."

Toby grinned back at her, the acknowledgement of her neurotic personality ringing all too true. "It's not a task for the faint of heart, that's for sure."

"Trust me, I agree. You're on the path to sainthood, sweetheart. And you know what else? Andrew is really nice and everything, but he lacks a certain…" she tapped her chin thoughtfully as if considering something profound. "Edge."

Laughter spurted out of him. "Edge!? Now you're just being ridiculous."

Her eyes went wide as she sat up straighter. "I am not! Toby Cavanaugh, you wear a leather jacket and you ride a motorcycle. You have a tattoo! These are the sort of things that most parents label as rebellious, and there was a time when _my_ parents tried to forbid our relationship. Face it, baby. That makes you edgy."

"I'm not edgy. All of your reasons are goofy clichés that you learned from sappy 80s movies." He was still racked with laughter, seizing her elbows as she shook her head adamantly from atop his lap.

"Fine, I'll move on. But this is not over. I'll prove it to you once I've collected outside evidence. A Hastings family poll will be the first demonstration in my case for your edgy street cred."

His amusement died instantaneously with that comment. "You will do no such thing, Spencer. There's an old saying, something about letting sleeping dogs lie or—I don't know, not stirring the pot. Whatever it is, I think we should heed that advice. Now what's next?"

"Gosh, you're no fun." Spencer ruffled his hair, then relocated her hands to firmly grasp his wrists. "Alright, this is an important one, Tobes. I'm going to need your full attention."

"Okay, I'm ready for it."

She smirked slightly before leaning her upper body completely into his. Toby shuddered as her hot breath mingled pleasurably around his ear. "See, the thing is, Andrew is a bookworm. A real studious guy. Very serious."

"Yeah, but you love that stuff. You guys could flirt in Latin and tell each other nerdy math jokes." He tried to wriggle his arms out of her grip, but she held fast.

"Mmm, no thanks." Her fingers slowly traced along the route of his pronounced veins, charting a course up over his knuckles. When she started to speak this time, her words were coated with a deep husky resonance that flipped his pulse onto its highest speed. "Because I prefer a man who's good with his hands…if you know what I mean."

His breath was staggering, but he tried to play along with a pretense of ignorance. "Sure, like I'm into carpentry and stuff."

The upturn of her soft lips against his jaw was a sure sign of his comedic success. "Not what I was aiming for, handsome."

She guided his hands onto either side of her hips, lower over her chiffon skirt, down to the exposed skin above her knees…and then back up again, the hem of her skirt riding higher and higher as they went.

"I meant **good** with your hands."

He had thought that he'd been on fire before, burning up with righteous anger. No, now he was _really_ on fire, a different sort altogether, and this was not the kind of blaze that he intended to put out any time soon.

Toby took command, adjusting his hold on her thighs and pivoting them both without any warning. An airy gasp sprang out of her as she fell against the cushions, her petite frame toppling easily along with him as he repositioned her horizontally across the sofa. He knelt above her, his legs ensnaring her from both sides, his eyes loitering over every inch of the remarkable woman beneath him. Her breath was catching wildly and her cinnamon eyes were shining with a languorous desire.

And he was only getting started.

With a purposefully unhurried pace, he began to work his hands enticingly over her silky-smooth legs. Spencer's gaze tapered dangerously with an uninhibited moan as she twisted her nails into the fabric below her.

"Is that more what you had in mind, Spence?" he questioned provocatively, his thumbs now dipping into the pale hollows above her hip bones.

"I—uh…" she fastened a few fingers around the dangling collar of his shirt, her lashes wavering hazily. With another few seconds, his hands were flitting over the buttons of her chambray blouse and climbing further to whisper across her ribcage. "_Oh my god_, Toby."

She yanked him down to her beguiling mouth and he went eagerly, his weight sinking more heavily into her as they met each other stride for stride. All of his earlier tension melted and morphed, reshaping into raw and uncontainable adoration. She was right there with him, her touch setting a torch of passion up and down his back, intermittently fisting his shirt until she progressed a few inches past the waistband of his jeans.

His body reacted on instinct, thrusting forward as she slid her fingers into his back pocket. A gravelly rumble quaked from his throat and the outside world ceased to exist. He was dizzy as he marked a series of kisses over her neck, trying simultaneously to not crush her while still keeping as much of their bodies fused together as possible.

It wasn't until she began to remove his shirt that he really lost focus, trying to aid her by scrambling out of the constraining material as quickly as he could. Between that and the taste of her skin and the way his heart rate was escalating, Toby's sense of reality was obliterated. If he had to get lost, he'd gladly get lost in her.

That was until an alarmingly shrill jingle started to clang from nearby, the annoying tune so abrasively unwelcomed that it almost knocked him right off balance.

"Ohmygosh," she huffed in a blurred panic, clawing her way out from under his larger build. "Crap, crap, _crap_—I forgot all about him!"

"Huh?" His head was far too clouded to keep up with her rattling staccato syllables, especially not when her willowy limbs were still all snarled up in his.

She looked unequivocally horrified at his delayed perception. "**Andrew**! He's been waiting for me this whole time!"

The jolting brightness of her cell all but blinded him as she waved it riotously in front of his face. Flinching backward, he snatched the offending device from her grip. "Alright, alright. I get it. Harry Potter needs you back for another round of study guide Jeopardy."

Her mouth pulled to one side in a barely-suppressed smile. "Our kind does not appreciate such juvenile mockery from the likes of you."

"I'm so sorry," his hand curled around the back of her neck, gingerly steering her in for a short kiss. "May I escort you downstairs and possibly buy coffee for both of you? You know, as a formal apology for monopolizing your precious time?"

She narrowed her gaze with a hint of suspicion. "As an apology, or as a territorial show of primeval chauvinism?"

He kissed her again, this one lasting longer with a warm persistence. "Probably some of both. But it's your call. I'm not worried about him anymore, I promise."

Her lips brushed affectionately over his cheek. Then with a quiet chuckle, she gracefully extricated herself from the futon and began to comb through her flyaway tresses. "You can come. It's time you two met face-to-face anyway."

"Grea—"

"I wasn't finished." Spencer poked at his chest, her jaw set sternly. "You be nice, okay? I need his notes to get through this Physics exam or else I'm toast."

His grin was irrepressible. "Yes, ma'am. I vow to do nothing that could in any way endanger your fast track to success, including anything that would piss off the Decathlon guy."

"Pointer number one, don't call him the Decathlon guy." She was doing her best to paste on a face of intimidation, but it didn't faze him. With one last warning glance, she reclaimed her cell phone and marched toward the door.

"Uh, Spence? Before you walk out that door, you might want to—"

"Quit stalling, Toby, I've got to get going now or he's not—"

He strode across the room, a wicked smirk in place. "You said that he's never seen you without your shirt on, right?"

One perfect eyebrow arched dauntingly. It was an unmistakable indicator of her skyrocketing exasperation. "No, never. I thought this conversation was over."

"It is. But the conversation will definitely start back up again if you don't button up before you leave this loft."

A crimson blush scattered over her ivory complexion. One glimpse down and that spread of scarlet flourished even more deeply. Her blouse was madly askew, only a button and a half holding it together over her pastel colored bra. To complete the look, her skirt was slung far too low over her left hip.

With all the audacity she could muster, Spencer met Toby's eyes with a scandalous wink. "What did I say again? Good with your hands and _totally_ edgy."

His smug grin lasted the whole way down to The Brew, not dwindling in the slightest when the Decathlon guy offered him the wimpiest excuse for a handshake he'd ever experienced. If anything, his satisfied expression only grew as their proper introductions were made.

Because she had been right.

Andrew was **not **her type.

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_if ya like it then ya shoulda put a review on it ;)_

_please excuse my dorky Beyoncé paraphrase. You know what to do in the box below! And feel free to PM me with prompts!_


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